Coming Home Tonight
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: It's over now, and it's time for him to go home. Oneshot. COMPLETE.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me.

Disclaimer PS: "Coming Home Tonight" belongs to Chris Rice, from his album _Smell the Color Nine.  
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Very dimly he could hear footsteps echoing on the cobblestone pathways. They were so far…so very far from him. He placed one pale, shaky hand on the stones, but the rocks betrayed him, slipping his frail body farther onto the ground. The fighter spirit still beat on in his heart, but with every beat more life slipped away.

He leaned his head back, relishing the smooth cool feel of chipped marble against his hot head. There was not much longer to wait.

--

"He can't be that far!"

The footsteps were farther, but he could sense them more clearly. He shifted positions, trying to get more comfortable.

And to get where he could no longer see the dead body spread-eagled in front of him.

He sighed deeply, feeling a soft, warning hitch in his lungs. His head throbbed, but the horrible pains in his forehead were beginning to die down.

Die.

He had thought a great deal about dying, of course. It was only natural. But it wasn't what he had expected, not at all. It was…quieter. More thought-provoking. He relaxed against the stones, feeling the tightness and heat and panic and adrenaline in his rapidly weakening body slowly drip away. The thoughts racing in his head began to quiet to a slow, lulling melody.

He was drifting away. 

--

_I wonder…if anyone's watching over me…_

"C'mon, kiddo."

He opened one eye lazily, and found himself looking up into a blessedly familiar face that beamed a wickedly smirky smile.

"C'mon, kiddo," he said again. "It's time."

_I never would have guessed that he would be an angel…_

"Nah, I'm not an angel," he said, reading his mind. "What do you think I am, a Hufflepuff?" His voice was joking and light, but his hazel eyes were dark liquid as he reached for him and tenderly lifted him into his arms. "It's time for you to go home, my son," James whispered, cradling Harry against his chest.

--

He nestled in the strong safety of the familiar arms. James was solid and warm; he smelled of sweat and cedarwood. Harry wrapped his arms around his father's neck, marveling at the rapid rebirth of strength in his body.

"I missed you," he whispered brokenly against James's shoulder.

He felt the arms tighten. "Missed you too, kiddo," he said. "I wish…I could have been there for you."

"'Sokay, Da," Harry murmured. It felt good to finally let the word "Da" escape. "I know you wanted to."

Tears were beginning to burn behind his eyelids. It pricked uncomfortably, and finally Harry could hold it no longer. A tear streaked down his cheek, then another, and another.

"Don't cry, Harry," James whispered, resting his chin on his son's black hair. "Don't cry. We're almost home."

--

"Oh, _James._"

He grinned. "What now, baby?" he asked.

The young woman shook her head, sending soft red curls waving about her face. "Did you have to take so long?" she asked. "I didn't want to see my child suffering."

Harry's knees buckled as James set him on the ground. "Mum," he whispered. "Oh, Mum."

Lily held out her arms. "Come here, my baby," she said. Harry stumbled into his mother's embrace, sobbing. Lily smoothed his hair and rubbed his back, her palm running into every protruding vertebrae. "Oh, my darling. My darling boy," Lily whispered.

"Mummy," Harry whimpered, and he felt Lily kiss his cheek.

"Come with us, love," Lily crooned, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "It's time to go home."

--

The footsteps finally caught up.

"We're too late."

There were only three of them…well, five bodies. Only three were inhabited.

Ron shuddered as he stared down at the milky, chalky, disfigured face of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…but the fear he had held for the living being melted as he stared at the harmless, lifeless corpse.

"Luna…he's gone," Hermione whispered. She knelt beside the pale, weeping blonde girl, gripping her slender shoulders. "There's nothing we can do."

"He's gone," the lost girl echoed. She lifted the glasses away from Harry's face, smoothing his black hair, wetting her robes in his fading blood. Luna slipped a slender finger along the soft contour of Harry's cheek, the cheek she used to kiss. The soft fingertip trailed along his cheek, his jaw, his chin, his mouth. Luna traced the tiny smile on Harry's lips. And a single thought came to her mind.

"He's home."

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**Author's Note:  
**Funny, this was sadder when I originally wrote it. Maybe because the lyrics added so much, but this website is of the opinion that fanfiction is of the devil.

This song is absolutely beautiful. I recommend getting it off Itunes, or at least listening to it as you read this. It really adds something.

This was written long before _Deathly Hallows_. Honestly, I was all right with Harry living or dying. It was one of those situations where "everything'll be all right in the end, you'll see." (That's a quote from Beauty and the Beast, by the way). And I was actually quite happy with how the series ended.


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